Bright Lights, Long Legs
by southern cross
Summary: A mission to Sin City will change everything.AU S2 Sarkney. I own nothing and mean no harm! Please enjoy...
1. Chapter 1

1

"There has to be another way."

Pausing briefly, sparing a glance at the young man behind him, he smiled that little smile he knew a lesser man would have found uncomfortable.

"I'm afraid there isn't. Review the options yourself. It simply has to be done this way."

Biting his tongue, hard enough to draw blood, he found himself alone in the blink of an eye. He really should have killed Sloane when he'd had the chance. As it was he wasn't sure if he was going to survive the upcoming 24 hours.

Dropping the file onto the desk, the cover still closed, he didn't bother reviewing a damn thing. For now his options were limited, stuck under Sloane's thumb as he was left him with few choices. Deliberately taking slow steps towards the door, there were still a few choices he held near and dear. Smirking at no one in particular he caught a glimpse at the lovely Miss Bristow as she made her way into the conference room. Yes, he still had a few options left.

Each step was careful, not to fast not to eager. Appearances were everything, catching the eye of several oblivious co-workers she returned their smiles with as much sincerity as she could muster. Some days the walls of SD-6 truly felt like they would bend and break under the lies harbored within them.

En route to the conference room, she felt Dixon fall into step beside her. The pacing of her stride hitched briefly to accommodate for his longer steps.

"I hear Sark's back."

Puzzled, she glanced over at her partner and wondered why she hadn't been told sooner.

"Really? I hadn't heard. Something must be up."

Not bothering to hide his disgust Dixon ushered his comment in with a snort.

"There usually is when that little..."

Coughing loudly, she covered her mouth as Marshall brushed past them, noting Dixon's slightly abashed face.

"...pipsqueak shows up."

Not bothering to conceal her smile, she wondered at Dixon's contempt for the man. She supposed most of his dislike came at the age with which he had joined their ranks rather than the affiliation with certain former employers. People and politics were a tricky thing, even in the espionage community.

Having reached the entrance to the conference room, she allowed the smile to fade and the mask to slip into face as she entered the door held open for her.

The players had gathered and she took a moment to assess their positions on the board. Marshall was huddled over a key board, typing frantically. The insensible words streaming from his mouth, she supposed, had more to do with her Father bearing down over his shoulder than whatever was projected on the monitor.

Sloane was engaged with Dixon at the head of the table. Avoiding that little conversation with eyes and ears, she made her way to rescue Marshall from her Father, when the meeting was suddenly called to order.

"I thank you all for coming on such short notice."

On cue everyone took the seat nearest them. Jack sat with Marshall to Sloane's right, Dixon, ever eager, took a chair at Sloane's left. Figuring distance was best, she chose the farthest seat which happened to be at the opposite end of the table, directly in his line of sight.

To late to change seats, she found a very interesting piece of wall just over his right shoulder and willed her mind not to melt as he began to drone on. Had he always been so in love with the sound of his own voice?

"We received Intel approximately 60 minutes ago that one..."

The soft swish of the doors to her left quieted the small man standing before them, and all eyes turned to the figure entering.

Hello. As any woman would when a good looking man entered the room she sat up straighter and automatically sucked in her tummy.

"Ah, Mr. Sark. So good of you to join us."

Sark? Huh. There was no way, then her eyes focused on the man, and her breath came out in a choked sob. Luckily no one noticed, since she had thought to hide the reaction behind her raised hand.

He nodded briefly to the occupants of the room and slid into the seat next to the suddenly pale Miss Bristow.

"I apologize for my tardy arrival."

Funny, he didn't sound sorry, and once again she choked on her treacherous lungs. Even well established criminals didn't like Sloane. Well, this criminal. The same one who'd walked into the SD-6 conference room wearing blue jeans and black t-shirt.

Wishing for a moment she carried that kind of clout, she tried to picture reactions to her arrival in such casual attire. Swallowing the laughter that was threatening to spill over, her lips pressed into a hard line, she pulled her thoughts off of Sark's clothes and onto his hair. Did she mention he was sporting a new hair cut?

Vaguely he heard Sloane begin the briefing again, but all his attention was focused on the female next to him. He wondered if she were ill. Her breathing had become labored and her skin had sunk into a deeper shade of pale. Eyebrows knitting together at the slight concern he felt for her well being he pulled his attention from her and back towards the head of the room.

"As I was saying Intel had been forwarded to us by Mr. Sark that one Butler Lostner is in the vicinity."

Butler who? Her brain was having a hard time catching the words flying at her. Emotionally, she was still reeling from seeing Sark and briefly, really for only a split second, thinking how good he looked.

There was no denying he was good looking, it was a fact. Thinking that he looked like some hot frat guy on campus was a whole other thing entirely. Besides it wasn't her fault. Picking up the pen, which had been left carefully along side lined paper for notes, she began tapping SOS furiously. The clothes, the hair, they were so un-Sark and that had temporarily stunned her into making insane observations.

That sounded reasonable enough to her.

SOS? It wasn't until her fourth cycle that he felt sure that was what she was saying. Feeling the urge to kick her under the table, he stilled his limbs by digging his fingers into the scarred flesh above his knee. Madness had descended over them all today.

"For those of you who don't know the name, you may recognize his handle. Butler Lostner is also known as 'the Vagrant.'"

A vague memory shimmered on the edge of her mind. Something to do with hacking government servers. Unfortunately her pen had rolled off the table after a particularly distressful pattern and as her eyes followed its descent, a bare arm caught her eye. A tan, bare arm, peppered with fine, golden hairs.

Her collective spy skills were no use against the choking cough that erupted from her kips. She caught the tail end of her Father's disapproving glare as she reigned in her absurd thoughts. God, if he only knew.

"There is no recorded evidence this man exists. All we have is a name. No pictures, no fingerprints. He has systematically erased himself."

"Then how can we be sure this is the right man?"

Dixon raised a valid point, and just as she was about to voice her own concerns, a voice next to her had her mouth snapping shut.

"Two years ago I had dealings with the man known as 'the Vagrant.' His loud and rather inappropriate comments earned him two rather identifying marks.

Looking over at him, she tried to imagine just what it could have taken to the offend Julian Sark of all people.

"One here." A long finger drew a line from left ear to chin.

"Which I have already confirmed. And another here." Said finger tapped just over the right clavicle.

"The mission is simple."

All eyes swung back to Sloane who had risen for the occasion, she nearly rolled her eyes at his love of the dramatic.

"Confirm the existence of the second mark. If confirmation is made then we want photos, fingerprints and voice analyses."

Great, all this for a simple recon mission. Well, she'd been through worse.

"What's our in."

Noting Marshall's nervous smile and the sudden shifting of air next to her, she knew any answer would not be good. Waiting for Marshall to compose himself to begin speaking, she was surprised when it was Sark who began to speak.

"It seems the dear Mr. Lostner is booked into the same hotel as I am. A chance encounter in the lobby alerted me to his presence."

Curling her toes in an attempt not to drown in the blind jealousy that snuck up on her. How nice it must be to be spending the week lounging around a hotel. Directing her question at him this time, she couldn't quite keep the sentiment from her voice.

"He didn't recognize you?"

Well now. Engaging him in full view of everyone. He delighted at this turn of events. Not one to let an opportunity pass him by, he slid on his Sydney smirk, for he knew it would get quietly and quickly under her skin.

"No. He was quite drunk and otherwise occupied."

Oh, the urge to smack the smirk off his face was strong. Very strong. The complete confidence with which he spoke only further infuriated her. Stepping up, when she should have back down, she made a show of glancing at the mother of pearl timepiece on her wrist before continuing.

"At this hour?"

They were staring each other down, ignoring all other occupants of the room. He couldn't have asked for a more pleasant turn of events.

"The party, it seems, never stops in Las Vegas."

Vegas. The name conjured up bright lights and long legs. She loved Vegas. Before she could blurt out a retort, Marshall's sputtering tore her eyes from the blue that held her.

"Right, well, from the information uh...Mr. Sark gave us and what I could retrieve from hotel records. A Thomas Franklin has booked a 7pm wedding."

Wedding? They were going to crash a wedding. That seemed low even for SD-6.

"We're crashing a wedding?"

The blatant displeasure in her voice garnered her several harsh looks, but she evenly ignored them. Just because she had to play, didn't mean she had to be nice.

"Not exactly. See the hotel specializes in private ceremonies. Security is tighter there than at most government run facilities."

When silence filled the air, words continued tumbling from his mouth.

"The vows are exchanged here."

Projected on the large monitor, adorning the wall, was perhaps the gaudiest chapel she had ever seen. Where exactly was Sark staying in Vegas?

"Um, they decorate to taste and I think this one was for a Liberace fan some months ago. At least that's what their online ads said. Anyway I digress. After the "I Do's" the wedding party is lead through here..."

A red light appeared from a pen he'd picked up from the table, and she wondered briefly if the pen that was currently on the floor next to her did that? The red dot pointed to a satin covered entry way past the altar.

"And into one of 3 reception rooms. Very exclusive. Very expensive."

With a simple clearing of the throat Sloane wrested back control of the room.

"Sydney and Sark will make contact in the reception hall."

The confusion must have been apparent on her face, because even Marshall had caught on and was now fumbling to find words to explain.

"Yeah, you're booked for an 8pm ceremony."

Oh, ceremony...CEREMONY!! This must be some kind of joke. One glance at his face and she felt her stomach drop. There was no way in hell her first trip down the aisle would be with Sark.

He was counting off the seconds until her tirade began. Not that he was thrilled with the process but he'd rather loud and memorable protests came from someone other than himself.

Opening her mouth to begin a potentially violent protest, she was cut off by her Father of all people.

"You two will review OP Tech with Marshall. What isn't ready yet will be delivered in time to your hotel. Dixon you will begin analyzing data as soon as it comes in."

A deep breath and she geared up again to protest, only to have Sloane interrupt. Would no one hear her today?

"Sarks' jet is waiting, so I want you two in the air within the hour. That's all."

An hour? Sark has a jet? Things were happening way too fast. Looking up, she found that Sloane and her Father had already left the room. Frozen, she stared helplessly as Dixon too, disappeared from sight. Only the sounds of shuffling drew her back to her surroundings, Marshall was gathering up his stuff in an attempt to move closer to the only other people left in the room.

"Um, ok. Well this looks like a camera right? Perfect, for you know, 'hello', 'smile,' right...Well it does take his res pictures in full color as well as mpeg captures. The internal memory holds 250 images, but I've tweaked the maximum capacity standards and you should get closer to 300."

Not sure why she'd need to take 300 images of a hellish night with 'him.' She none the less smiled at the enthusiasm Marshall felt over the feat.

Flipping the camera over he pointed to a small, gray button left of the LCD screen.

"But you hit this little sucker and you get a full body scan. Height, weight, surgical scars."

The joke was lost on him, but there was something utterly hopeless about the same that brought a smile to even his jaded lips.

Cutting her eyes away from Marshall, she settled her eyes on his profile. He'd been noticeably silent since their 'debate,' but the light smile on his lips melted away some of her anger.

Once again he felt her eyes on him. Turning to meet the sun, their eyes locked, a soft smile crossed her lips. His experience with her was brief, but he was certain he'd never seen her smile quite like that before.

When had his eyes gotten quite so blue? Humor lightened them to a shade that reminded her of the waters outside Cozumel. Before she could process her response to a simple smile a loud bang jerked her attention back across the table.

"Oops, sorry."

The camera had slipped through nervous hands and landed hard on the table. Having skidded near her, she gently picked It up, offering it back to him.

"Oh no, you keep it. Did I mention the wireless capabilities? You'll be able to send what images you take just by hitting the red button on top there, but don't hit the black one there. See that emits a low dose of radiation that can track a person's movements."

Obviously Marshall had poor recall when it came to his experience with the substance, but by her shifting in the chair, he supposed her recall was 100.

Making note of the two small buttons near the grey one pointed to earlier, she did her best to ignore the memory of what Sloane had done with the very substance enclosed in her palm. She still couldn't believe he had endured a complete transfusion. But then if someone had done that to her, she supposed she would have done the same. Freedom was expensive at times.

Another small gadget appeared before them, distracting him from the memories in her hand. Why were so many hand held electronics white? Made little sense.

"This is your standard cell phone, make and receive calls like normal. But you hit #2 and this baby comes to life. The internal memory will hold an exact replica of the hand holding it. Cleaner, faster way to get the prints you need. Just hit #3 to end the scan and call it in when done."

Impressed again, she smiled warmly. He was certainly the best at what he did.

"These are your itineraries. Since Mr. Sark is already registered as a guest, the decision came down to book the chapel under that name."

The snort that erupted was unplanned and by the look on his face unappreciated, but it couldn't be helped.

"Sorry."

Just knowing that somewhere out in a hotel reservation log the man next to her held a wedding chapel in his name was absolutely hilarious.

"Well then O.K. Good luck."

"Thanks. Marshall."

Rising, she gathered the camera and folder containing her still unknown alias. From the corner of her eye watched him rise and take the phone that was extended to him.

"Thank you."

The sincerity of the remark gave her pause and sent Marshall's nerves into overdrive. Ignoring the falling papers across from her, she took a good look at the man next to her.

Not one to back down, he returned her look, his face a perfect mask of indifference. His eyes however, were full of questions. He continued to surprise her today. Alone now, she seemed at a loss for what to do next. Leaving seemed like a good plan, but his eyes held her still.

"You got a haircut."

'shit.' If she wasn't angry at him, she was annoyingly tongue-tied. The smile he sent her held no trace of mischief and for one blinding instant she was reminded just how young he really was. How young they both were.

"Yes, well. I'd just finished doing that when I glimpsed Lostner in the lobby."

Well that explained the clothes. If he'd left immediately after spotting the man, as she suspected, there would not have been time to change. Fascinated by the way his hand ran over the shorn locks, she caught herself staring.

She did that, she realized, played endlessly with her hair after a cut. As if checking to make sure that pieces were still gone. Startled by the small connection, she looked away.

So what now? There had never been a lack of words between them. A warm silence filled the air between the, and he distractedly picked up the folder on the table.

"I don't suppose you will have time to go home and pack."

Pulling her gaze back his way, she wondered where that question had come from.

"No, but there's no need. I keep essentials here, just in case."

The casual observer would have missed the slight weight shift in his stance. She was never casual though when it came to Sark. Something was making him uncomfortable.

"Well then I would like to offer you a ride to the airport. I have a car waiting to take me and it would seem foolish for you to have to travel separately. Especially now given the circumstances."

As his voice tapered off she allowed a small smile cross her lips. Was Sark rambling? This was insane. Was she so imposing that Irina Derevko's second would be nervous about offering her a ride?

The thought irritated her. No one wanted to be that imposing. So she blamed the irritation, the haircut, the tan arms, anything but the truth for her reply.

"That would be great. Thanks."

He hadn't expected her to accept, much less sound so pleased at the prospect.

"Wonderful."


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to those who took the time to review! Please enjoy chapter two. I own nothing and mean no harm.

* * *

Stepping out of the cool air of the jet, heat washed over her. Summer sunshine was unrelenting in the desert, even at 3pm. Tugging at the long sleeve of her jacket she eventually shrugged out of the garment. No point in melting just to preserve her modesty, he'd seen her in less than a silk tank top.

Cringing at the strangeness of the statement, and cursing, once again, the psychos who dressed her for missions, she made her way down the steps. Two cars were parked on the strip of tarmac before them.

Glancing between both vehicles her feet carried her towards the right. Taking a gamble that he was driving this gorgeous black Jaguar and not the Honda sedan she dropped her jacket into the open passenger window.

"Everything set?"

Taking the keys from the nameless assistant eagerly awaiting his arrival, he threw the question out quickly.

"Of course sir. The reservations have been confirmed, and the hotel has assured me that all transactions are kept in the strictest of confidences."

Well that was comforting. Dismissing the man with a curt nod of his head, he made his way over to her.

The flight had been, interesting, to say the least. Both had done their best to be amicable, so they'd settled on safe subjects. Books were a passion for both and the hour flight had ended somewhere during a raging debate on turn of the century novels.

Now though they were back to the business at hand. Taking steps towards the car, he reached her side just as the carry-on was loaded into the trunk. Reaching for the handle on the passenger door, he held it open for her.

Ever the gentlemen, it seemed. With a raised eyebrow she slid into the seat and raised her gaze to him as he closed the door.

"Thanks."

"My pleasure, Miss Bristow."

"It's Sydney."

Where had that come from? Now looking at his raised eyebrow, she almost rolled her eyes as the ever present smirk made an appearance. Turning her eyes from him, she concentrated on fastening her seat belt, she'd never driven with him before and she wasn't going to take any chances.

'Sydney.' The name rolled over him and he could admit that he like the feeling. Running a hand absently over the trunk, he made his way to the driver's door and eased in. No need to rush and perhaps scratch the leather.

Gears turned and the engine roared to life. It sounded as big as she had imagined it would, then through miracles of automotive technology, the roar turned into a purr. Glasses slid on his face and a hand gripped the clutch. His every action oozed confidence and sexuality. How had she not noticed it before?

Caught staring, she quickly averted her eyes.

"See something you like?"

Unable to resist, he tossed the question out and waited patiently for her reply.

Taking time to slide her own glasses on, she chose her words carefully. This was a new game they had begun to play and she wasn't sure what the rules were yet.

"It is a beautiful car."

Draping an arm casually out the window she half wished for a cigarette that she could dramatically ash then toss.

"That it is, Sydney. That it is."

Why did it seem that he always had to have the last word, for just as her mouth opened to reply, the breath was torn from her as the gears shifted and they peeled away. Head pressed back against the seat, she instantly forgot what it was she had meant to say, thinking only of the pounding of her heart as the acceleration built. One hell of a car indeed.

2b

Ignoring the blatant looks of lust being sent his way, he instead focused on the task at hand. Weaving his way through fabrics of every colors and unbelievably tiny sizes, he found himself in the back of the store, and staring blankly at a rack of unfamiliar items.

When Sydney had finished laughing, unbecoming tears rolling down her face, she notified him sometime later of her predicament. The undergarments provided for her would not suit the "costume" she would be wearing for their nuptials.

Taking no chances that she may be recognized and therefore jeopardize the insanity that was their mission, he had been elected the one to go.

Snorting at a particularly delightful leather and satin piece, an unbidden image of the one and only Miss Bristow wearing the very outfit, in the conference room they had recently vacated, holding a popsicle, had him stumbling back in outrage and arousal.

"May I help you?"

Frowning at the woman who had snuck up on him, he fought for control of his voice and his body. Damn that Sydney Bristow, distracting him to a point that a 45 year old woman had accomplished what trained professionals had died attempting. Pulling what was left of his dignity form his rather strained crotch, he got back to work.

"I'm looking for something for my fiancee' ."

Voice? Check. Body? Not so much. Taking a painful step forward, he pointed to the leather and lace ensemble, he ignored the knowing look she sent him.

"Along the same lines, although I think white would be more suited to our purposes this evening."

Winking at her, he watched the blush creep up her powdered cheeks, and felt himself fall completely back in control.

"A corset then, in white you say? I may have just the thing over here."

Not bothering to follow, he turned and eyed some of the other pieces, then quickly looked away, remembering what that had gotten him before.

"Now this is one of our finest sets. The boning runs all the way around, allowing for maximum support. Lacing is up the back and the trim is of the softest Venetian lace. Of course the garters, hose, and other necessities are included."

An eyebrow raised then at her lack of description. Perhaps g-string is too naughty a words to speak in his presence. 'If she only knew.'

"I'll take it."

Startled at his firm answer, she backed away quickly with the pieces before he could change his mind. They were after all commissioned sales.

2c

"Stupid, bloody things..."

The curses from the adjoining room were getting louder and far more colorful. Carefully applying a thin layer of rose lip gloss, she snickered at a particularly creative sentence.

Rising, she smoothed the fabric over her voluminous skirt and admired her reflection in the mirror before her. 'Not bad.' Turning, enjoying the swish of the petticoat, she gasped at her own profile view. The corset cinched her waist just right and pressed her bosom up sinfully.

Upon arriving at the hotel, they had quickly made their way up to his suite. Since SD-6 had no knowledge of the man they were after, there was no way to know if she had run across him before, so it was best they kept a low profile.

Spending an hour going over her alias and the thin itinerary, she was grateful when a knock at the door signaled the arrival of the rest of their things.

Leaving papers scattered across the king sized bed, she made her way into the living room. A bell man was laying garment bags on the sofa, while another handed a case to Sark.

Curious at to their disguises she went straight to the sofa. Unzipping the top one slowly, her eyes had grown wider in amazement. The dress was beautiful, a white bodice with tiny flowers leading down into a layered skirt and what appeared to be a petticoat. Tracing a finger over the delicate embroidery she couldn't help but think there was something familiar about it. Intrigued, she gently lifted the material and draped it carefully over an arm chair.

The zipper on the remaining bag was proving to be a challenge, as if not wanting to reveal it s secrets. Finally lowering it enough to part the plastic, her eyes widened in total disbelief.

Laughter welled up inside of her so strongly she lost her breath. At that point he had come over to see what had riled her up.

"Have you gone mad?"

Unable to form words she merely pointed to the open bag and watched as his faced paled in realization.

Between hiccups she managed a weak, "It seems Marshall forgot to mention that ours would also be a theme wedding."

An hour later he had still been so upset that when room service arrived he had signed for it without complaint. Rolling her eyes at his rosy comments and methodical pacing she sat down at the table and began to eat, enjoying the floor show he provided.

He'd continued in the same manner until her plates were empty and she realized she needed to distract him or someone was likely to die before this op was over.

Twisting a dangling curl, she still couldn't quite believe he had actually gone out and purchased the lovely items now clinging to her curves. The man had good taste. As if that wasn't obvious by the car, the room, the general lifestyle, but the lilac box had revealed the most stunning set of lingerie she had ever owned.

Once again admiring her reflection, the curves still shocking her, she knew she wouldn't be giving them back either. Criminal be damned, the corset was beautiful. Forgoing the supplied stocking for the matching set of hose, she had glanced nervously at the door as she had slid on the g-string and attatched the garters. Just because she liked the pieces didn't mean he had to know it, besides he'd never see them.

Curling her hair and pinning it up as best she could, she felt ready. Rolling her eyes once more at the profanity coming through the door, she gripped the door knob and twisted.

"I'm going to throttle Flinkman."

Thinking she had aptly prepared herself for what was waiting she slipped quietly into the room.

"Oh, come on its not so bad."

Turning quickly on his booted heel, he sent her a glare that would have sent most running from the room, but she was too preoccupied picking up her stomach that had dropped to her knees.

Well, what stomach that wasn't obscenely tied up. 'Oh, my God.' He was stunning. Gorgeous. Sinful. Pleasure coursed through her and her tiny underwear suddenly felt two sizes to small.

"Sydney?"

Looking for all the world as though she were about to faint he stepped towards her, body tensing to catch her if she fell.

"Yes, what?"

Frowning now, he reached out for her hand and barely hid his shock when she gripped his firmly.

"Are you alright?"

Looking up into his eyes. Beautiful blue eyes that were framed by kohl. 'God in heaven.'

"What?"

Realization slowly dawned over him. He was causing this. 'Oh, my.' Wasn't this a pleasnat turn of events.

"I asked if you were alright."

Taking possession of her other hand, he pulled her against him, steadying her with his frame. She was a vision in white and it only made matters worse that his mind's eye was imagining the other white visions hidden underneath.

"Yes, yes of course. It's just this corset is tight, and I'm a little, um."

Thoughts were hard to come by. His eyes had become her whole world. Blue and black were all that she could see, could think.

"I see."

Dropping her hand, his went to her waist. They were close now. So close he could feel her heat burning against his torso.

Time slowed, her vision tunneled, and his face was coming into focus. So close she could count the scatter of freckles across his nose. Tilting her head back, she accepted the fact, welcomed it, her body had taken over and she leaned in for the inevitable.

As if a puppet on a string he watched her move. Curls bounced as her back arched, insticnt kicked in and his other hand wrapped around her impossibly thin waist. He'd never imagined he'd be this close to her. 'Sydney.'

"Sydney."

A moan, a prayer, a curse. Wrapping her hands in the loose fabric of his shirt, her eyes slitted open in time to see his covered head dip in.

The fists had come up and he'd braced himself only to find she'd pulled herself closer. 'Oh hell.'

The kiss was everything she had never knew she wanted. Fire, heat, and then the taste of him. Her lips had parted on their own and suddenly he was there, everywhere.

Her soft moan broke something. That something walled up inside of him and he plundered her mouth, tasting, learning, trying to find his way back from the rubble burying him.

Locked together neither noticed the time passing or the slip of paper that had earlier fallen from his garment bag. A little present Marshall had sent along with their clothes.

Ladies and Gentleman.

You are hereby summoned to witness the joining of two lost souls

Miss Elizabeth Swann

and

Captain Jack Sparrow


	3. Chapter 3

I am especially proud of this chapter and so I hope you all enjoy it. Please let me know if you do or don't!

* * *

3a

Time had slipped away from her. Suddenly she was pacing around a small room, twirling a purple orchid, waiting for her 'wedding' to begin.

"There you are my dear. All set?"

Turning, a more difficult action under this many layers, she eyed the woman entering the room.

"I guess so."

The chapel matron was rather short and somewhat heavy set, but that hadn't stopped her from squeezing into a skirt and corset. The resulting cleavage was shocking enough to drive her eyebrows up into her hair line.

"Having second thoughts?"

Almost laughing aloud at the question she managed a weak nod, before the woman launched into another loud commentary.

"Now, now. Every woman has those thoughts before their wedding. It's a natural thing. Although with one so good looking as yours, I wouldn't have thought there would be much consideration. And what a lovely choice for a wedding. Pirate romance indeed. Much more inventive than the standard Elvis /Priscilla theme we do nightly. Had one of those earlier in fact."

Managing another weak nod, she tried hard not to picture pirate Sark in her head. Sark in black pants. Tucked into black boots. A creamy white shirt, flaunting tan skin, accented by a deep blue waist band. A deep blue matching the blue of his waist coat. A sudden laugh jolted her out of her perusal.

"Thinking about the wedding night I bet. I remember my own. What a night."

Wedding night?

"Well then. I think it's about that time. Now all you have to do is stand here and this door will open when everything is set. You have your bouquet?"

Looking down at the flower in her hand she nodded. Her voice it seemed had abandoned her. Once they'd left the room. Silent since, well since 'it' happened, he had pulled her absently along through the lobby. There had been her no argument from her of any kind. She was too stunned by what had happened to note her surroundings or that he had pulled her into a small flower shop in the lobby.

A quick look around was all it had taken for him to select the long stemmed orchid and hand it to her rather brusquely. She'd managed a quiet thank you before she was once again pulled along, this time to the chapel itself. Parting ways at the entry, she'd lost sight of him when the bosomed woman ushered her in here.

'Get it together Bristow.' There was a mission to complete. The kiss had been an aberration. Brought on by lack of adequate oxygen and the hypnotizing effect of the Captain's hat he wore.

That's all it was. Setting her shoulders, she noted she was alone again. Faint music could be heard through the door before her. Silently the door swung open. 'Show time.'

3b

Amazing. Looking around he figured the word suited his thoughts. The room he stood in was quite simply amazing. Someone had turned the gaudy chapel projected on the wall of the SD-6 conference room into the cabin worthy of any ships captain.

From the dark wood paneled walls, to windows looking out over the ocean. He half expected the room to begin swaying with the current. Shaking his head he ran his hand over the desk before him.

The power of money rattled even him at times. Standing here, dressed in full pirate regalia, getting ready to get married in the bow of a 'ship' and no one had blinked an eye. Music began to play and he turned.

"Good evening sir."

Turning towards the voice he was met by an elderly gentleman. Taking the offered hand, he shook it with the strength only good breeding could afford. A good handshake was crucial to how you were perceived. Too strong or too weak and people noted. Anonymity was much safer.

"Good evening."

"I hope everything is to your satisfaction?"

Glancing about the room he saw no reason not to show his appreciation. Simply because this was a ruse, didn't mean the attention to detail hadn't been flawless.

"It most assuredly is."

Noting the look of pride on the other man's face, he allowed a smile to grace his lips. Respecting one's pride in their work demanded respect in turn. Even if one's life work was dressing chapels for the obscenely wealthy.

"Then we may begin?"

Steeling himself for the inevitable sight of her, he nodded. Kissing Sydney Bristow had been an object of many a fantasy, but the reality of it hardly compared. The woman was an inferno. One that could consume him. Make him forget himself, forsake all others for a simple taste of her.

There would be no consumption. No forsaking. He was Sark. Not some man who would lose himself to a woman, even a woman such as her.

Violins grew louder, signaling the time had arrived. Making his way over to the minister. He adjusted the belt that hung over his hips, the thing rested comfortably given that it supported a rather lovely, if not heavy, sword.

The piece was nothing like the fencing ones he had trained with at school, but he had tested the weight in his room and appreciated the quality of the work. He may just have to keep it. Would serve Flinkman right after having to endure this.

Especially the hat. He had thrown away the awful black wig that had accompanied the outfit and simply wore the scarf. The hat would have met the same fate, but one look from her and he had begrudgingly slipped it on.

A door opened to his right and he saw her silhouette framing the entry. Deep breath in. 'Focus.' The phone and camera was tucked away in the massive waist band of his, they were only here to collect data.

Taking a deep breath, her foot stepped forward as the first strains of the march hit her. Sparing a glance at her surroundings she was surprised at how beautiful the room was. For all intents and purposes they were in a ship. Candles were lit through out the room, lighting her way to the altar. To him.

Thinking that she was more beautiful in candlelight than anything he had ever seen, was not helping maintain his control. Reigning in his wayward thoughts, he tried counting backwards from one thousand.

By 995 he had given up and allowed himself to drink in the sight of her. When would he ever be in this situation again? May as well take advantage of what could result.

One foot in front of the other. Would she ever get there? The distance between them seemed to stretch as his eyes locked onto hers. Try as she might, she couldn't tear her gaze away. The jolt of desire snuck up on her and heat pooled between her legs.

Stumbling on the hem of her skirts she felt her footing give and braced herself for the inevitable fall. Eyes shut she waited for the pain, only to be surprised when arms wrapped themselves around her.

Opening her eyes, she found herself staring into blue eyes. He'd caught her.

For the CIA's most valuable asset she was certainly a clumsy creature. Reaching her before she toppled over, he noted how soft she was over the steel that made her who she was.

When her eyes opened to meet his, he felt part of himself slip away at what he saw. 'Not good. Not good.' Righting her, he slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and together they made their way to the altar.

"Dearly beloved we have gathered together her to witness the joining of Julian and Anne."

Words were spoken, false promises given over bands of precious metals, and then she heard the phrase she'd been dreading.

"You may now kiss the bride."

He wouldn't dare? The smirk he sent her gave her every indication that he would indeed take the dare.

Rational thought dictated a small kiss to the lips would be the safest route. As his head moved in to signal their 'union,' he did not miss the way her eyes widened and her pupils slightly dilated. Ignoring rational thinking, his arms wrapped themselves around her waist, crushing her against him as his lips found their way back to hers.

On their own her lips parted, welcoming him back. Moaning into his mouth, she leaned into him, grateful for the arms holding her upright. Christ, but he was made perfectly for kissing. A wicked tongue and a crooked lip, who could ask for more?

Feeling her give way to his kiss, he took advantage by sliding his tongue into her. Fascinated once again by the taste of her. Hands had slid around his neck and he felt her fingers pressing into his skin. He truly hoped she'd leave bruises.

Somewhere, someone was clapping. Feeling his kiss fade into tiny pecks on her cheeks and nose, she took a chance and opened her eyes. The expression in his eyes was unreadable. The blue had turned so dark she fought the urge to step away from the power of them.

"Wonderful. Wonderful. Congratulations. And what a beautiful wedding set if I may say so."

Both glanced down at the matching wedding bands of platinum and then at the round cut diamond on her left hand. He'd mumbled something about the hideous things Marshall had sent along, she had merely shrugged and headed back to her room, never seeing them again. The jewelry weighing down her hand was certainly not what had been sent, but where he had gotten them was a mystery.

"I imagine you are ready for the festivities. If you'd just follow me."

Once again taking her arm and tucking it around his, he led them through a door, the woman had entered. Hoping she was ready for this he glanced at her. Portraying the blushing bride was an alias that suited her. Flushed cheeks heightened the dimples that were revealed with the smile she sent him. Not even considering the consequences he fully returned her smile.

"Ready for this?"

Nearly stumbling again at blinding beauty of his smile, she caught herself before she could make a fool of herself twice in one evening. Squeezing the arm she held she couldn't stop the words until they were already tumbling from her lips.

"Aye, Aye Captain."

3c

Long steady steps carried him from his car to the front door of his home. Balancing the bag of groceries in his left arm, he unlocked the door with his right. Taking a quick survey of the entrance he noted that everything was as he left it. Jack Bristow was not one to take any chances. Tucking the keys back into his pocket he made his way into the kitchen.

Placing the brown bag on the island he carefully withdrew the eggs and bread off the top. Bread was placed in the bread box and the eggs were deposited into the refrigerator.

Upon closing the door, his eyes scanned the row of blue post-its before him. Snatching off the one that read 'groceries' and the corresponding yellow one that among other things listed 'bread' and 'eggs.'

No one would dare call Jack Bristow forgetful, quite the opposite in fact. Faces, names and details so minute were systematically categorized in his head. That capacity for memory and recall was essential in his chosen profession.

Trivial things such as buying groceries and necessary toiletries did not need to be stored in his memory. The system he had created was simple and effective. Notes on the fridge door gave daily updates on what needed to be done.

Blue headed the topic, yellow went up should detail be required and the dreadful pink ones only help priority issues. Priority notes tended to be resolved quickly, why anyone would want pink paper for any reason was beyond him.

A ringing drew his attention from the papers to the phone in his pocket. Sparing only a glance at the caller before answering.

"Bristow."

"Jack...Mr. Bristow...Agent..."

"Yes, Marshall."

"Um, yeah. Sorry for calling. And it's late. And you weren't eating were you?"

The urge to hang up was strong, but he knew that for Marshall to call him so late, at home, something had to be wrong.

"Is there something you needed?"

"Um, yeah. It's about Sydney. Well Sydney and Sark actually. I think they might be in trouble."

3d

They were led down a dark hallway, a door on the right and one to the left were bypassed for one at the end of the hall.

"I hope you enjoy yourselves. Dinner and dessert will be served shortly per your request. If you need anything else just press the button next to the door."

With that the door before them was opened. She couldn't help the small gasp that slipped through her lips. He was ushering her in and she struggled to take everything in. As magnificent as the chapel had been, their reception hall was even more amazing.

Done up to look like a villa on some Caribbean island. Blue walls were framed by white washed moldings and large windows appeared to look over a crystal blue sea. A warm breeze picked up the curls that framed her face, and she turned her head into the make believe sunshine.

Catching a glimpse of her face basking in the faux light from the window, he swallowed a curse. They had a job to do, and by the tightening in his groin, all he wanted to do was peel away her many layers and have his way with her.

The burn of his gaze was reaching her through closed eyes. When she managed to open her eyes the look that greeted her had her taking an involuntary step back. For all the world he had never looked more intimidating or more appealing than now. The clothes and sword did much to add to the part, but it was the way he looked at her that sent chills down her spine, as if he wanted to strip her bare, consume her.

They were at a draw. Neither wanted to speak of what was mounting between them. He certainly didn't want to. So he decided simply to ignore it.

"I think it was the first door to the right. If Marshall's data is to be believed Lostner and his guests should be holed up in there right now."

Blinking at the shifting of moods, she struggled to catch up. Only one other person she knew of could switch gears so quickly and that was her Father. She wagered Sark could give him a run for his money though.

"So we get in get the scans and photos and then what? Come back here?"

Shrugging as he made his way over to the platter of appetizers and chilling bottle of champagne. Picking up an olive he popped it into his mouth. Noting, but ignoring the look of blatant desire on her face. 'All in good time.'

"Sounds reasonable. Let's give it half an hour before we move in."

A half an hour with him. In here. That paled in comparison to her sudden revelation. Olives were terrible things, horribly round things that slid perfectly into his mouth. 'God...' She needed to pull herself together. There was a mission to complete and she couldn't do that if she was obsessing over him.

Reaching for the glass of champagne he offered, she hesitated only briefly before downing the contents. 'What the hell.' Rolling her eyes at the smirk that led into a raised eyebrow she extended her arm, waving the empty glass in his direction.

"Thirsty?"

Only years of training kept his voice level, betraying none of the desire the rerst of his body was currently fighting.

"Actually yes. The night's activities have left me quite parched."

Mouth agape at the sudden change in her mood and the way her lips curled around the rim of the glass. His eyes watched the line of her neck as she swallowed the cool liquid.

"Hungry?"

Feeling far more in control than she could remember she noted the dark look of desire in his eyes, only this time she welcomed the thrill it gave her.

"My dear husband. You have no idea."


	4. Chapter 4

4

Not believing his own ears, he stood frozen as the words echoed in his head. Was she flirting with him? Tossing out a challenge she couldn't possible expect him to back down from, and he had no intention of doing so now.

As soon as the words left her mouth, his face had gone blank, the blue had begun to darken with something she couldn't quite name. When he broke eye contact to study a seemingly fascinating booted toe, the balloon of confidence that had been building exploded within her.

Wishing now she could snatch the syllables from the air between them, she looked anywhere but at him. Maybe he hadn't heard her and they could proceed with the evening as though her insanity driven words had never been uttered.

Having almost convinced herself of her own propaganda she jumped at his sudden movement.

Stripping himself of the lovely, if not cumbersome jacket he laid it neatly on the back of the closest chair. Well aware of her eyes on him, he kept his movement controlled and even. Glad to be rid of the hat, he left the scarf on, not knowing the state of the locks underneath. Next came the leather belt and accompanying sword. Feeling somewhat lighter, he turned to face her fully. It was time to take back control of the situation.

Taking an involuntary step back, she caught herself before she toppled over a small table full of appetizers. So he was still technically in costume, albeit far less costume than he had started out with. Mentally noting his movements through the room, she was quite aware that his path was leading directly towards her.

Still hovering under the illusion that he hadn't heard her properly, she attempted to clear her throat, perhaps breaking the silence that was quite deafening in her opinion. Lips parted, but no sound came forth, all thoughts were now focused on the piece of cheese that had found its way from a silver platter to a pair of waiting lips. When had he gotten so close?

"Perhaps this is what you were craving?"

Taking a small bite of the soft cube, he slipped the remnants into her waiting mouth, noting the acceleration of her heartbeat as his body brushed against hers. With a devotion monks envied, he studied the automatic response of her mouth to the food that had been placed there.

Careful not to touch, merely brush, he slid an arm around her waist. Reaching for what he knew to be an exotic slice of something pink, he ran it gently across her bottom lip.

"Or maybe this is more to your liking?"

Unable to stop herself, she licked the sweet juice form her bottom lip, her eyes closing as the taste combined with the saltiness left from her previous sample. What was he doing to her?

Whispering into the shell of her ear, he dug his fingers into her waist as the words trickled from his lips.

"I think, however, my blushing bride, is hungry for something entirely off the menu."

Curling her hands around the ledge of the table, her fingers would have left dents on a lesser piece of furniture. With a sigh, she let her lead loll back, as his fingers trailed up her bodice to cup a straining breast. The heat that had been building solidified as juices pooled between her legs.

Tracing a finger around a rapidly hardening nipple, he slid a finger over the soft skin of her cleavage, finding his way to the other breast and repeating his attentions. The smooth column of her neck drew him in and he began dropping soft kisses at quarter inch intervals. A lifetime could be spent simply learning the ripples and ridges of her skin.

Whatever he was doing to her, she had begun to realize, he was simply not doing fast enough. Widening her stance, she gripped his hips and pulled him closer. Freezing, she registered the hardness pressing against her. Pulling back she met his gaze, surprised by the blinding smile that greeted her.

"You're not on a diet are you?"

Delighted by the way her face registered each word he spoke and he knew the exact moment realization dawned on her. The hands holding him dug into his skin and her mouth opened to proceed with a barrage of protestations. Acting faster than any civilian could register, he swallowed her protests with a kiss.

Indignant still, from his implication, she half heartedly pulled back from his kiss. His hands had slipped into her hair and held her firmly in place. He anticipated every move she made and countered it at every turn. As much as it thrilled her that he matched her so perfectly, she had no intention of being utterly predictable.

Loosening her hold on his hips, she tilted her head, giving herself over to the kiss. Exploring his mouth with her tongue, she let her hands wander over his back, pressing into the cords of muscle hidden so well under a lean frame.

Drawn in by the manipulations of her tongue on his, he didn't note the travels of her hand farther south until it reached its destination. Every muscle tensed as her hand wrapped around his length. Pulling away from her swollen lips, he studied her expression. She was so good, eyes wide and clear, the picture of innocence. He didn't buy it for a second.

"Hmm...looks like a full... seven-course meal."

'Counter that!' The thought pleased her and she smiled at his bewildered expression. There would be no turning back now. 'In for a penny, in for a pound.' Pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, she held her breath as her wrist flicked once, then twice upwards.

The fog that had clouded his brain since her words had been uttered evaporated the instant her hand moved. All thoughts went straight to his straining erection. Narrowing his eyes at her, he felt his control bend then snap with the final press of her fingers. He was, after all, a man.

For an instant, what she saw in his eyes terrified her. Complete, unbridled, want. For her. Sucking in what little air she could, the thought overwhelmed her. As did his sudden movement. From behind her, she felt his arm sweep the contents of the table to the floor.

Before she could protest, he had dropped to his knees before her. If she thought his earlier ministrations on her body were arousing, they hardly compared to the sight of him kneeling before her. Cupping the head now pressed to her belly, she closed her eyes, burning the image into her memory.

Pausing at the touch of her hand, he knew that if she protested now, he would stop, but as the soft scratching began on his scalp, he released a breath he didn't recall taking. Slipping hands beneath the volumes of fabric, his fingers found ankles covered in the softest of fabrics. Smiling against her, he was pleased she had worn the garments he had purchased for her.

Traveling the length of her legs, he wished only that the sight was revealed to him as well as his touch. Her legs seemed to stretch on for miles, they were made to wrap around his waist. Groaning into her stomach at the image, he quickly found the object of his desire.

Fingers were cupping her bottom, sliding down the cleft of her ass, stopping just before the place she needed them to be the most. Seconds passes before she realized that the fabric was being pulled from her body. This was really happening. Stepping out of the hindering object, she had barely regained her footing before she felt herself being lifted and dropped onto the table, recently cleared of its contents.

Parting her legs automatically she took his hands, pulling him into her embrace. Finding his mouth once again, she hitched up her skirts and nearly screamed when his fingers began massaging her thighs.

All thoughts of seduction were abandoned once her hand found its way into his pants. Pushing her legs apart as far as they could go, his fingers slid into her moist folds, swallowing her moan with his tongue. Slipping two fingers deep within her, his thumb pressed into her clit, beginning a clockwise circuit of the swollen nub.

'Oh, God. Oh, God.' An orgasm was already building, it had been so long since she had felt so, alive. Forgetting for a moment what she was doing, it dawned on her that her hand had stilled and she quickly rectified the situation. Even as his thumb began speeding up the circles on her clit, her hand began stroking his cock. Squeezing firmly at the base, to a feather light tap on the head, wet already with pre-cum, she repeated her actions.

Timing his thrusts with her, he felt his balls tightening as her hand increased its rhythm. He was going to cum in his pants like some oversexed schoolboy because of her and he could do nothing to prevent it. Accepting the fact that he wanted to cum for her, make her cum for him, had him slipping a third finger into her. Stretching her body to its limits as his hands stroked in and out of her.

Unable to concentrate on kissing she let her head fall back against the wall. Up and down, up and down, and oh damn, oh, up and down. His head had followed hers and she felt his lips latch onto her neck as his fingers presses deeper into her. Demanding more, he wanted all of her, and she would have given him everything if he would just make the ache stop.

"...please..."

The desperation in her voice nearly undid him. Or maybe it was the nails raking over his extremely sensitive cock head. Muscles were clenching around his fingers and he knew she was close. Just a little push and it would send her over the edge.

Simultaneously she felt his teeth sink into her neck and the nail of his thumb scratched over her clit and she was done. Cold fire exploded from her belly to her chest and fell back into her toes. Gasping for a breath stolen by the sensations, she called out for him.

"...Sark..."

Maybe it was the sound of his name on her breath or final jerk of her wrist, but he came so unexpectedly he could only groan in pain as his vision was stolen from him. Cumming viciously into her hand, he gritted his teeth as she continued her ministrations, each stroke slick with his cum.

Panting, she let her hand still, but didn't release him. His fingers were still buried inside of her and the feeling was strange, yet there was a ghost a of familiarity in the touch.

Second passes, minutes formed, and neither moved. Either from shock or satiation or a little of both, she neither knew nor cared. It was the best, damn orgasm of her life, and she relished the after glow.

As the temperature between their bodies cooled, he thought of various ways to gently extricate himself, with out seeming, insensitive, seemed the closest adjective to describe his thoughts. A dozen remarks and scenarios were weighed and abandoned. At number thirteen, one presented itself.

The pounding didn't register at first.

"Are you descent in there?"

The voice certainly did. Her eyes flew open at the second set of knocks and her heart began to beat erratically. His head had risen and she read the panic in his eyes that she was fairly certain reflected the same look in hers.

In an instant they were scrambling to pull apart. He stepped back slid his hand from beneath her skirts, finding his voice before she could slip down from the table.

"Yes, yes, of course."

Not bothering to look for her underwear she simply let her skirts drop, hiding the nudity beneath. Tucking the glistening hand behind her back, she noted that he did the same as he went to open the door.

Stifling a giggle, she watched him juggle a dinner platter in one hand and the open door with his foot. Catching his eye, still high from her orgasm, she gave into the temptation. The situation was simply to outrageous not to succumb to the idea that had crept in since the door had swung open.

Holding his gaze, even as the platter was topped off with a two hundred dollar bottle of champagne, she slowly withdrew the hand from behind her back. Eyebrow raising as his eyes grew dark, she raised her hand, nails up, until they were at eye level. Knowing an army of CIA agents could enter and his attention would remain solely on her, she took her eyes from him to observe her discolored hand.

Turning her hand slowly, she studied her palm with equal attention, only looking up when she lifted her pointer finger to trace the outline of the bruise forming on her neck, then her lips. The dark of his eyes, had spread to the rest of his expression and he was scowling at her, blatantly ignoring the chattering woman next to him.

The scene unfolded before him as though he were caught in a romance novel gone horribly wrong. An assassin, dressed as a pirate, being hounded by a woman with enormous breasts, while balancing a platter made of low grade silver, taunted by the unreachable woman across the room. Of all the things he expected her to do, this wasn't even in the top one hundred, not that he had a running list of imaginary things Sydney Bristow did, but if he did, witnessing her methodically lick each of her fingers was no where on the non existent list.

Watching him try to process her actions while maintain some semblance of self control was amazing. His almost complete success had her feeling sorry for his predicament. Cutting of the woman mid sentence, she did the unthinkable. She rescued him.

"Thanks ever so. I do believe we can take it from here."

Before she could blink, they were alone again and the platter had found a home on another wonderfully constructed piece of furniture.

In three steps he reached her, the image of her suckling on her fingers, fingers coated with him, looping in his mind, he wrapped his arms around her. Pressing her back against the wall, he traced her lips, with his own tired hand. Noting that she blinked when starting to become aroused.

"My beautiful wife, didn't I tell you? Dessert is my favorite part of the meal." 


	5. Chapter 5

5a

Watching her face register his words, literally seeing the possibilities filtering through her mind, had him pressing closer towards her. The things he would do to her, for her, but all in good time.

"Unfortunately, business must come before pleasure."

Lost in the sensations his thumbs were drumming up across her skin, she barely heard him. 'Business. Business?' Jolted from her reverie, she opened her eyes to find him studying a stray curl. How could he just start and then promise and then stop.

He was getting to her, and from the smirk playing on his lips, he knew it. Narrowing her eyes, she pulled her hands from the wall they were supporting and attempted to readjust her bodice, effectively pushing him away in the process. Whatever had been building between them needed to be put to the side. As irritating as it was to admit, he had been right in pointing out that business had to come first.

Whatever game they were playing was still unclear to her at the moment, but he certainly wasn't going to get to make all the rules. Or always have the last word. Pining up the curl that had fascinated him so, she put on her sweetest smile.

"Unless for tonight our business is pleasure."

There was no response to that. She knew it, and it aggravated him to no end. Sometime in the last 8 hours Sydney Bristow had crawled in under his skin and he wasn't certain how best to extract her. Perhaps, pressing on with this ridiculous mission would provide some much needed distraction, and allow him time to regain control of the situation.

From the door she watched him withdraw the camera and phone from his waist. Taking the offered phone she turned it on and familiarized herself with the keys needed.

"So, we stumble out of here, make some noise, stagger into their room, and action!!"

Shaking his head at the absurdity of her sentence, it still amazed him how Americans continually managed to butcher the language of their birth.

"Not quite as articulate as one would expect from Sloane's best and brightest, but it covered the highlights."

Rolling her eyes, he was nothing if not a snob, she yanked open the door and in her worst Cockney slang beckoned him to follow her.

"Can't catch me you naughty pirate!!"

5b

From the air the world below was idyllic. Behind glass it was calm and peaceful, revealing none of the hard ships he knew hid behind the facade.

Some where in the Nevada night his daughter needed him. All attempts made to contact Sark and Sydney had yielded nothing. The hotel did not allow calls inside the reception halls of the chapel and neither Agent had thought to turn on the phone before needing it in the mission.

Reviewing the files spread out before him, he picked up the one that had caused all the fuss. The op should have been simple. After Marshall's frantic call, he had headed back to SD-6 expecting catastrophic news.

V1-84. The source of all the chaos.

Replacing the paper back into its folder he tried once again to push the thoughts out his head. Possible scenarios that Marshall had given as a side effect of the drug.

For all he knew the mission could be progressing as planned, all procedures could be completed without a hitch. He also knew that if Sark hurt Sydney in any way, under cover or not, he would make him pay.

5c

Fighting the dizziness that threatened to overtake her, she clutched at the door knob, grateful for the warm body behind her that was currently all that was holding her up. Something was happening, she was buzzing like the one time Francie had made them "special" brownies.

Giggling at the memory, she jumped when a hand wrapped around hers.

"Are we going in, luv?"

Grinning, she opened her eyes, realizing they were still in the hallway, she nodded. His voice really was delicious in every way. Maybe she could get him to record it for her and then whenever she needed to feel that warmth his words caused she could just hit play.

"Say that again."

The scent of her hair was distracting him, her words were muffled out by the ringing in his ears. If only he could get them inside maybe the floor would stop rolling. Startled by her vicious slap to his hand, he could only stare in wide eyed astonishment as she turned in his arms.

Not sure what to do with the pouting beauty before him, he struggled to maintain a grip on the door as her lips began raining kisses on his neck.

"Perhaps we could continue this somewhere a little more, comfortable."

At the obvious strain in his words, she paused and smiled into his cheek.

"Not until you say it again."

Sighing he attempted to look down at her, perhaps to ascertain to what she was referring, and was greeted by a mouthful of curls.

"You'll have to be a bit more specific, luv."

Sighing she let the sound of it roll over her, again that delicious warmth seeped into her bones.

"Thank you."

Confused, he could only stare as she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips then turned to open the door. There was something strange going on, but he could hardly seem to focus enough to think what could possibly be the cause.

The plan had been executed perfectly. Without interruption they made it to the entrance of Lostner's room and with a flourish only inebriated newlyweds could muster they entered. Scan complete, recordings made, the data had been uploaded before they had even left the room.

There was a moment of concern when Lostner had insisted on taking a picture of them, with much reservation he had handed over the camera. Brief awkwardness had followed as they arranged themselves for the impromptu photo session. Somehow one photo had turned into a dozen and he had literally pried the camera from the drunk groom. Carefully wiping off the gadget, the man had managed to hit every button on the bloody thing, he turned it off before slipping it back into his belt,.

All had been well until they had started to make their way back to their room. That was when his head had begun to spin and his limbs had gotten heavy. Blinking back to the present he was stunned to be standing in the middle of their Port Royale haven, being treated to a impromptu rendition of a certain Paris ballad.

"My life... brings such misery... and pain"

Turning to face to him she threw her discarded underwear at him, smiling as he picked them up from where they had landed on his chest.

"I know I'll never... be the same"

Stepping around him she slid her hands up his spine, letting her hands come to rest on his shoulders. On tiptoes she whispered her finale in his ear.

"Since I fell for you."

A burning began to spread like wildfire through his body. No more delays. No more distractions. He would have her. Opening his eyes, a euphoric feeling settled over him as his objective became clear.

Swaying to a song only she could hear, she was surprised when she felt him turn in her arms. Slipping her arms around his neck she began to nibble once again on a delicious piece she'd discovered earlier.

Unable to contain the groan that slipped, he spread his hands across her back. With care to make sure she felt each movement he let his hands travel down to cup her bottom.

Gasping as strong hands manipulated her she retaliated by biting hard just above the collar bone. Her victory did not last long as she suddenly felt herself being lifted from the ground.

"Put me down!!"

Clutching his shoulders, she caught a glimpse of the dark look he sent her, and any further protests were drowned out by the roar of blood rushing between her legs.

For what he planned he needed more room to maneuver than their earlier accommodations provided. To his left was a plush window seat that had been built into one of the faux windows. Two rather uncomfortable steps later and he deposited her onto the cushions.

"WELL. That was rude."

Stepping back to admire his handy work, he offered her a conciliatory smirk.

"I'll more than make up for the inconvenience."

Under heavy lids, she looked at him. Marveling at how tan the exposed skin of his chest was. Lust, power, want, all new and wonderful feeling were filling her head making her bold.

Tossing back a smirk of her own, she drew one leg up, hooking it on the edge of the seat. Slowly she began to swing her dangling left leg, knowing he was watching, she began to inch up the hem of her dress. Alternately she began drawing lazy lines on her exposed breasts, enjoying the way her skin was hot under her touch and her muscles fought the wetness slipping from her body.

"I have every confidence that you will."

Tearing his eyes from the shortening hem, he read the desire in his eyes, and grew harder than he had ever imagined possible. Attempting speech at this point was useless. All thoughts were directed back to fabric his eyes fell to. As if she had discovered a new form of torture she slowed her actions.

It would be simple, two steps and he would have her, and he could finish what she seemed in no hurry to complete. A small voice held him back, reminding him that this was Sydney Bristow, and it would be well worth the wait.

Distanced from him as she was, she swore she could hear his heart pounding in her ears. Or was that her heart beat? Removing the hand from her breast she dropped it onto her propped knee, pausing before doubling her efforts.

So close, so close. She wondered at what was causing this. Where had this new found confidence come from. A quick glance at the smoldering blue eyes currently willing her hands to speed up and she remembered. Smiling at the look, she knew what he wanted, a final jerk of her wrists and her leg fell still.

Legs. Legs that went on forever. Covered in his silk, then lace, then...God. Laid bare before him, he knew without question she was the most beautiful woman in his world. Dropping to his knees, he could only think what he would give to pay homage to the pink moisture before him.

It delighted her to no end to see him on his knees, for her. Smiling, she extended her hand and with one slender finger beckoned for him.

In another world Julian Sark would have gone to his knees for no man, but for the goddess before him he would prostrate himself willingly. On all fours he crawled to her, never taking his eyes from the heated chocolate eyes.

Planting a small kiss to the inside of her waiting ankle, he looked up to find her lip caught between two white teeth. With one hand he caressed her calf, knee and thigh, grabbing her chin in his other hand, he pried her lip free with his own teeth. Sucking the abused flesh into his mouth, he swallowed her moan.

All of muscles melted as his hands fell on her. Without protest she let him take her mouth captive once again and all she could do was match his attentions with ones equally as fevered. The need was building again, the ache was back. She wanted him.

As if he had read her mind, he broke the kiss, unable to help herself, she pressed her forehead against his, her plea a whisper meant only for him.

"Please..."

Without hesitation his hands, that had found their way to her knees of their own accord, pressed her legs apart as far as they would go. Dropping down until he could breath in the scent of her, he let his hands travel down her legs until they reached the smooth skin of her bottom.

No warning, no preparation. Just cool air, then the hot feel of his tongue on her clit. Oh God, he was made for this. Moaning what she hoped was his name, intelligible words at this moment were not guaranteed, a hand clutched at the wall to her left as the other made its way to his neck and began to tug at the soft hairs at the back of his neck.

Her mind, her heart, her skill, of them all nothing compared to the taste of her. Hidden in the bitter musk was a sweetness that had his tongue diving deep within her to find. Loud moans above him, coupled with the pain from her hand at his neck, and the delicious taste of her sent him headlong into a state of sensory overload. What pushed him past all that was the one thought repeating over and over in his mind, he wanted to hear her scream.

Teeth were tugging relentlessly at her clit, lips were drinking in the juices as fast as her hazy body could produce it, and all she could do was hang on. Looking down at the head between her legs a rush of desire swept over her as the visual stimulation was almost too much to physically bear.

Digging his fingers into her luscious ass, he slipped his thumbs to her entrance and applied just enough pressure to drop her moans an octave. Doubling his efforts, he focused all his attentions on her clit, alternating between soft nibbles and sharp tugs. She was close and he knew if he focused hard enough he could find release from her exclamations alone. Not this time, this time he would be buried to the hilt when his release came.

Unable to focus on anything she let her eyes close, behind dark lids she found no reprieve from the image of his head at work between her knees. The pulse of the blood between her legs echoed in her head, growing louder and faster as he manipulated her flesh with his lips and fingers.

Flashes of him began rolling in her mind's eye, timed to perfection with each thrust of his callused thumb into her swollen body. Smirking at her from across the conference table, the very first time she'd seen him with cold eyes and a shotgun. The small smile he sent her as she serenaded him in pink, kohl eyes burning down on her as they leaned in for a kiss. The slow steady rocking of his head between her legs and when his head would raise his crooked lip would glisten with the taste of her.

With a final thrust of both his thumbs, he bit down rather savagely on her hyper sensitive clit, twisting and pulling until he heard her scream out her release. Savoring the sound as it echoed around them, he drank in the sweetness of her until he was drunk on the taste.

Tears trickled from her eyes as the shudders of her orgasm rolled over her. Never before had she cum so violently or loudly and she let a satisfied smile spread across her face. Now she understood why some sold their soul's for a night's pleasure, the power and contentment would stay with her forever.

Licking her pink flesh until he felt her pulse calm, he lifted his eyes first. Taking in sight of her flushed skin and secret smile he knew all to few women enjoy. Resting back on his haunches he let his wrist hang from his knees as he watched her fall back to reality.

Feeling eyes on her, she focused on the man before her. Just as she seen in her fantasy his lips glistened in the light, winking at her, begging her to taste. Sitting up, not bothering to cover herself, she stretched her arms forward, letting her fingers trace the lines of his face, coming to rest lastly on his lips.

His whole body was tense, aching for release, and never before had selflessness outweighed personal desires. Waiting for her reaction, the tender touches were unexpected and he didn't know what to do with them. Still as a statue he endured her exploration, only daring to look at her when her touch settled on his lips. Not trusting what he was seeing, it wasn't until her lips met his that he knew her movements had not been figments of his imagination.

Tasting herself for the first time, she was surprised to find herself curious by the flavor rather than repulsed by it. Surprised by his lack of involvement in the kiss, she scratched her nails over his scalp, then dragging her tongue across his lips, she drove her tongue into his mouth, demanding a response.

Startled by the sudden appearance of her relentless tongue in his mouth, he snapped from his stupor long enough to remind him of his own torment and the armful of woman demanding attention. Whatever surprise he felt at her exploration of herself on his person was drowned out by the pressing need in his pants. Tearing his lips from her he whispered his need into the shell of her ear.

"I want..."

Pulling at his shirt she licked her response onto his shoulder.

"Yes."

Pulling the restraints from her hair, he enjoyed the tickles as it tumbled over him.

"I need..."

Shaking out her freed hair, she met his eyes and smiled at him.

"Yes."

Still not used to the burning light of her smile, he abandoned words in favor of action. Scrambling to his feet, he pulled her to her feet, wrapping her in his arms and a kiss. With one eye he once again he surveyed the room for the proper equipment, damn the woman for thinking of everything but a bloody bed. Pulling her back with him, he spun them, pressing her bottom onto the table they had used earlier.

Hands were hastily removing the lace ties from her bodice in an attempt to free her breasts. Overwhelmed by a sudden ache in her chest, she added her own hands to the melee, never once relinquishing the swollen lips in front of her.

Managing to free her breasts enough to cup each mound, he greedily sucked each nipple until they stood out taut before him. Once again he paused, wanting to see each stage of her arousal and commit it to memory. Stepping back he took in her dark curls tumbling wild over her shoulders stopping just above the rosy hue of her areolas.

He was thinking too much, this was a time for action. Taking a step forward, she brushed past him heading for the only sofa in the room, rather than lay down, she trailed her hand across the back, testing for strength and sturdiness. Over her shoulder she smiled at him and watched as he utilized that superior training, for he was behind her in blink of an eye.

Wrapping his arms around her, he once again filled his hands with the softest flesh he had ever know as her lips captured his. She seemed to have a rather noticeable fixation on his scarred lip. Through the clouds of lust filling his mind, he felt her hands grip his hips and hold him still as she ground into him.

Moaning into her mouth sent delicious vibrations down her spine reigniting the flame into an all out blaze, she was ready and dammit if she wasn't going to have him again. Knowing he needed a catalyst, something to snap that famous control, she slipped a hand between their pressed bodies and gripped the hard flesh. With a rough jerk upwards she felt his body go rigid and couldn't help but smile at her victory.

Taking a deep breath he slowly removed her hand from his throbbing dick, not bothering to look at her satisfied face, he was beyond all reason at this point. With a half step back, he took her hands, placing them on the back of the sofa, gripping her hips ground his hard on against. Encouraged by her moan, he spared no time in flipping up her skirts.

Smooth, white skin nearly had cumming in his pants, but once was enough for that. Unwrapping his belt he threw it to the ground, thankful for the simple drawstring he freed his member letting it rest against the swell of her ass. Stroking her flesh once with the tip, he was pleased that she was wet and warm for him.

Without warning or a word he plunged wholly into her.

"God!!"

She couldn't help the exclamation. To be filled so suddenly she hadn't realized how empty she was to begin with. Draping even further over, she held on as he withdrew only to plunge just as quickly.

Without a break he pounded into her. She was hotter and tighter than should be allowed. Not giving into the temptation to close his eyes, let his mind wander, he wanted to see every jerk of her hips, every bounce of her hair. Distracted briefly by the changing color of her flesh under his fingers, he wondered if she'd bruise in the morning.

Leaning closer to her, he gathered up a handful of hair pulling her back for a kiss he knew would leave a mark. Not breaking his rhythm, he held her lips with his and reached for her breasts, capturing a nipple he tugged it back into rigidity. As much as a part of him wanted this to last, his balls were tightening and he knew he wouldn't be able to deny his body for much longer.

Free of his lips she struggled for breath, falling back into position, all the air she had accumulated fled when the fingers so recently teasing her chest, slipped in between them to find her clit. With each thrust his fingers scraped over her already sensitive skin, tossing her head back, she smiled.

"You like that milady?"

Her smile grew as she heard his perfectly controlled voice slur with an accent thicker than she had ever heard from him.

"Aye, aye captain."

Groaning, with her he pounded even harder into her frantically trying to hold off cumming until he she had. Changing tactics, he buried himself to the hilt, paused and with a vicious clockwise rotation mirroring the actions of his thumbs felt her body strum with orgasm.

No rest for the wicked, and he'd never claimed to be anything else. One, two , three, and deeper than he thought possible he found himself within her and felt his body snap, he came.

What came from his lips was raw and primal and she heard it in her soul, knowing it would haunt her dreams, she fell limply onto the cushions. Only half registering his final thrusts as he emptied himself into her she let the burn of her third orgasm simmer under his hands.

As his muscles abandoned him, he collapsed on top of her, just barely catching himself before he completely smothered her. Their breaths mingled and the beats of their hearts competed. With baited breath he waited for her to turn, not sure what to expect.

As beautiful as he was in post coital glow, she didn't miss the look of reservation in his eyes. Dropping a kiss onto his nose, she smiled, feeling that light headed bliss from earlier return.

"Maybe next time we'll make it to a bed."

5d

Striding across the lobby, no one dared meet his eye. Even the most naive civilian could tell he was a man on a mission. Through the flight, and the subsequent drive to the hotel he had not been able to reach either Sydney nor Sark at the hotel.

Their mission should have long since been completed and each minute of silence only strengthened his fear that something bad had happened. Stepping onto the elevator, he slipped the key to access the penthouse, one that Marshall had provided, and willed the floors to ascend faster.

The doors opened silently, across him a door, not knowing what lay behind had him drawing his gun. Best to be prepared for any situation. Stepping towards the door, he rapped loud enough to drown out the Queen from within. Gun at his side he heard voices and a shout.

Without warning the door opened and for the first time in his life Jack Bristow was at a loss for words. Standing before him, wrapped in what appeared to be only a white bed sheet, was a smiling Sark. Blinking once at the boy before him, he managed to hide the gun behind his back just as he felt arms wrap around him.

"Jack!! What a surprise!!"

Still wrapped in an impromptu hug, he simply could not think of anything to do but allow the boy to hug him.

"God! Sydney will be so glad to see you."

At the mention of his daughter he quickly extricated himself from the bare arms careful not to dislodge the hastily applied, kilt? One look around the once immaculate suite, it looked as though half of Vegas had entertained here rather than just two of them.

"Sydney. Sydney!! You'll never guess who's here."

Stepping over a pile of what was once a dress, he cringed at the realization that at least one of Marshall's theories had been correct. Following Sark as he entered a room off to the right. His fears were confirmed when upon entering the bedroom, he found his daughter sprawled across a tousled set of sheets.

"Sark! The camera won't take any more pictures!"

"That's because it's full love."

In abject horror, he watched Sark drop onto the bed and take the object from his daughter before planting a kiss on her head. He watched as he whispered into her ear and she dropped her head off the edge of the bed.

"Hi, Daddy."

Upside down as she was, he was thankful that she did not appear to be in any pain, another potential side effect Marshall had warned him of. Taking a step back into the living area, needing a reprieve, he shouted to the couple behind him.

"So, I take it the mission was a success."

The question was followed by five minutes of nearly incoherent arguing as they both vied to tell the story. Grateful for the opportunity to catch his breath, he managed to ascertain that the mission had been a roaring success and then they had retired back up here to celebrate.

"But we did run into that awful woman with the bosom. You remember her?"

"Of course I do it was like two hours ago."

Rolling his eyes, which to Jack made him look all of eighteen, Sark continued with his story.

"She had us sign some papers and I think we purchased some extravagant wedding memories package."

"We did?"

"Yes, I thought you remembered. You picked it out and then signed as well."

A bright red package by the door caught his eye and he carefully made his way over to it. Picking it up he noted its contents briefly. A DVD, some photos, the usual wedding fare. It was the last item that caught his attention. At the very bottom was a red folder. Dropping the rest of the items, he opened it slowly and what he saw sank his stomach into his feet.

The signatures appeared authentic and unlike the chemical that had accidentally made its way into the camera, which after heightening the user's emotions, would wear off. What was on this paper would leave a lasting impression.

August 19, 2003 Las Vegas, Nevada

Bride: Sydney Anne Bristow  
Groom: Julian Lazeray Sark

-Fin 


End file.
